Age of Alchemy

This painting, and its companion picture “Science,” were designed to act as pendants, or a matching conceptual pair. They remind us that the “arts” and “sciences” were not always considered separate.

Although painting and laboratory work seem quite different to us today, art and experimental chemistry were once seen as two different but interlinked ways of investigating the natural world.

This painting is a “pendant” to the previous picture, titled “Art.” They were designed to demonstrate the similarities between art and science. Chemistry could teach us how metals and other matter worked, but art could help us understand our place in nature.

Notice that many pieces of the equipment that appears in each scene—especially the large celestial globes, patterned with star signs, at center—remain the same in each workshop.

The labors of this white-bearded alchemist are being closely watched by the monkey perched on the window above. Both alchemists and artists were sometimes called “apes of nature,” a teasing nickname that comes from their attempts to mimic nature (either by picturing it, or by trying to copy its processes).

Monkeys were known to be highly intelligent and to imitate the behaviors they observed, which is why they sometimes appear in paintings of alchemists’ laboratories—and also in paintings of artists’ studios.

Many of the globes that are pictured in alchemical paintings don’t represent maps of the earth. Instead, they show star charts. These are celestial globes, used in astronomy and astrology.

Why would an alchemist need to check the stars? Horoscopes and forecasts determined from celestial maps were believed to be useful when planning any major events—including starting a particularly difficult or dangerous chemical experiment. Celestial charts were also used to help diagnose sick patients and find any potential source for mental and physical illnesses. This bustling workshop shows evidence of both medicinal and metallurgical practices (work with metals).

Alchemists have a reputation for being hermits, but in reality, many had families or managed large workshops. The German alchemist and physician Andreas Libavius, in his 1607 book “Alchymia Triumphans” (Alchemy Triumphant), encouraged alchemists not to isolate themselves, but to enjoy the richness of family and social life. “By means of an honorable family,” he wrote, alchemy could be seen as a respectable art.

Here, kitchen and laboratory merge: a distillation apparatus sits on the hearth at left, as the alchemist’s wife cuts vegetables to feed her children. A stuffed iguana hangs overhead, a common trope in alchemical scenes that demonstrates knowledge of nature; but it is accompanied also by a taxidermy turtle, an animal which symbolized the safety and comfort of home.

This couple sits between a furnace and a table covered in jars and tools. The man, holding a crucible and tongs, turns to watch his partner point out a passage in her book. His active pose and her authoritative gesture suggest that they are experts working side-by-side. Laboratories and workshops were often collaborative spaces.

Curiously, this painting is a modern copy of a seventeenth-century original. You may notice that the varnish looks yellowed, as if it has darkened over centuries—but of course, it hasn't had time. The artist may have intentionally sped up the discoloration process or mixed pigments into the varnish to give it the look of a historical object.

The clutter of objects at the front of this painting might suggest that the alchemist needs to pick up a broom, but it also shows the wide range of materials and tools that were used in making medicines.

At right, a portable metal furnace is surrounded by charcoal, which was used as a heat source, but also sometimes as an ingredient. At center there are glass alembics (vessels with long, thin necks) used to distill herbs and plants into tonics or essential oils.

The earthenware apothecary jars shown around the workroom have tight cloth lids: these were usually tied with string and sometimes sealed with wax to help prevent cures from spoiling. The alchemist shown here is probably performing a diagnosis by urinoscopy.

The development of distillation, a process that reduces substances to their liquid essence with heat and time, was considered one of the most important inventions of the early modern era (between about 1500–1700). The earliest uses for distillation were medicinal: even certain spirits or liquors which are consumed today for their taste, were first created and used as agents for healing or soothing the body.

In this apothecary’s workshop a man pours distilled liquid from a jar into blue earthenware vessels. The artist of this painting was clearly eager to show off their talent for rendering different types of surfaces. Look at the way each different texture of copper, clay, glaze, straw, wood, and leaves has been carefully and distinctly painted.

Painted a century later, this second scene of an iatrochemist (a chemist specializing in chemical medicine) demonstrates changes in attitudes towards alchemy. Note that the celestial globe—once used to help diagnose illness using astrology—is gone. Gone, too, is the bustling workshop full of assistants.

We see a single, solitary alchemist offering a glass to a young women, while the child at her side peers curiously at clay and copper vessels on the floor. Unlike many paintings created during the 1600s, this picture does not focus on the technology of the laboratory or show figures at work. Instead it offers a quietly nostalgic scene, as if the era of alchemy represented a “simpler” time.

Individuals who specialized in making medicines and other necessary goods were sometimes referred to as apothecaries rather than alchemists. Apothecaries acted much like modern pharmacists, dispensing drugs and remedies. They were typically important and respected members of their communities.

This picture shows an apothecary-chemist with a waiting customer at his side. Beyond the curtain at right, we see his assistants hard at work in the laboratory. The luxurious imported carpet across his desk, and his fine furnishings, are intended to demonstrate wealth and taste. Yet the skull on the shelf at left is also a warning against “vanitas” (vanity), a reminder of the human mortality we all share.

Scales and balances were vital tools of the workshop, as many processes require exact ratios of materials. But this poses a few problems for aspiring alchemists.

First, the problem of sources: many recipes or instructions written between 1500 and 1750 did not include specific measurements. Authors of chemistry texts (as well as cookbooks) assumed that their readers would have the hands-on experience and skill to determine amounts on their own.

Second, the problem of standardization. Modern laboratories use the metric system for measurements, but metric was only adopted around 1799 and did not become common for several more decades. Other traditional measuring systems still circulated. It seems this alchemist has his work cut out for him.

This picture was painted well after the establishment of chemistry as a formal university discipline, yet it looks backwards to an earlier time. The atmosphere is peaceful and meditative, as if the work of the alchemist was similar to the contemplation of a monk in retreat or a scholar engaged in deep study.

The large window illuminates the room with warm daylight, reflecting against the glassware sparsely placed on upper shelves. At right, a long-necked alembic distills into a receiver placed in a water bath on the floor. For students of “new” chemistry in the mid-1800s, this image might have evoked wonder or nostalgia for the discoveries of a bygone era.

N. C. Wyeth is most famous for his work as an illustrator for books and magazines. His paintings were reproduced in the pages of classic adventure stories, like Treasure Island and Robin Hood. Here, Wyeth has turned the alchemist into a wizard-like figure who would be more at home with King Arthur and Merlin than with a laboratory.

Although it’s obvious that Wyeth studied older images of alchemy for inspiration—you can compare the accuracy of his glass distilling vessels to other, earlier paintings in this gallery—the fanciful costume of the young man at center, and the radiant castle in the clouds seen through the open window, gives this painting an unusually dreamlike charm.